


Wings.

by deanxcasxlove



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 18:15:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2160300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanxcasxlove/pseuds/deanxcasxlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel thinks he wouldn’t mind the gutting sensation of falling asleep if he were falling asleep next to Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wings.

Castiel is cold.

He is cold, and his stomach roars. Yet more signs of his new-found humanity.

He feels the slump of his jaw as he climbs onto the abandoned bus in an attempt to avoid the cold. It doesn’t help, much.

Shuffling down into the worn, broken seat, beneath a piece of fabric Castiel vaguely thinks of as a blanket, he wonders how his life ended up this way.

Of course, he doesn’t need to wonder very long.

Impossible green eyes and ash-brown hair are why he’s here right now. Delicate freckles on a hardened face, and wash-softened plaid covering broken skin. Righteousness swallowed whole by self-doubt.

No, Castiel knows exactly how his life ended up this way, but he can’t bring himself to regret it the way his brothers and sisters seem to. The moment he’d lain a hand on Dean Winchester’s bruised and battered soul in Hell was the moment Castiel had known he could never regret it. Naomi had said that he had been lost, but to Castiel he was _found_.

He does not feel very found right now.

He shivers, his whole body aching to curl in on itself and fall past consciousness. He is still not used to it. Not used to the vulnerability that comes with the all-consuming lack of awareness in comparison to the constant, continuous thrumming alertness of the Heavenly host.

Even though he’d kicked him out, the only place Castiel wants to be is with Dean (and Sam) in the bunker.

Castiel thinks he wouldn’t mind the gutting sensation of falling asleep if he were falling asleep next to Dean.

 He wants to curl himself around planes of unfounded inadequacy, sadness and anger and make the man whole again. To kiss every scar left by a demon, and to smooth his hands over every dip of missing skin. Breathe into the man’s mouth and fill him with hope. He wants him to know how much he is truly loved. Castiel can’t help but feel responsible for piling high Dean’s heartache with Castiel’s own, stupid mistakes. He’d broken Dean’s trust. He wishes he never had. Things might be different now. Dean’s already bleak world might have been the slightest bit brighter.  
  
Dean’s happiness holds a greater part of Castiel’s attention, now that it is human. He feels like he’d been looking into a kaleidoscope, not understanding what the big fuss is. Then, suddenly, it all became clear and the ache of humanity set into his newly-felt bones.

Castiel sighs, the cold creeping along said bones and chilling the muscle and sinew wrapped around them, and tries his best to snuggle beneath the threadbare blanket. He imagines the headrest of the seat is Dean’s arm, and that he’s not in an abandoned bus, not really, but the bunker, surrounded by the two people he would curse in the face of divine intervention for.

But he’s not. And no matter how hard he squeezes his eyes closed, and no matter how hard he wishes he was, he’s not in the bunker. He’s not with Sam, and he’s not with Dean.

He’s alone, and his wings are gone.


End file.
